Month: March, 2010

by mollykl

Deanna Raybourn, one of my recent “Hey, I don’t have to do homework so I have free time to read!” discoveries, has a blog post about how scents trigger memories. Now, I don’t normally comment on blogs, because, well, I don’t. But this one hit too close to home, so I had to list my favorite scents, in order:

1. Wet cement.

2. Wet dog. (Yeah, go figure…)

3. Bonne Bell Skin Musk (ah, high school, which was quite miserable, given that I was not attractive and way too intelligent for my own good)

4. White Shoulders (which I loathe for the neroli note, but always makes me think of Christina Cockerham, who was my best friend in high school, so it is actually a happy association)

5. Mildewed books. In particular, my 1906 copy of “The Secret Garden” that I picked up in a bookstall in London. The damn thing is in horrible condition, but had the most gorgeous illustrations and smells like heaven. I know logically that mildew is bad for books, but if they could make a perfume out of it I’d buy it in a second.

6. Sawdust. Smells like my grandpa’s workshop where he carved birds and made my jewelry box. When I was in college I lived near them and I go visit for weekends. We spent hours in that workshop and I got to help him.

7. Cigarettes. Because they were my dad’s only constant accessory. (I also like the smell of clove cigarettes because they remind me of college)

I should also add that Rain perfume reminds me of my years at Escential, so every time I wear it I think of Meg and Emily, which is always a happy memory.

by mollykl

Hell has officially frozen over: tonight I was looking at the wine rack and I grabbed, intentionally, a zin.

I hate zins. Hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. But I like this one from Bad Astronaut. It’s their new Dark Matter zin, and not only is it the best damn zin I’ve ever had, it’s also one of the best wines I’ve ever had. So much that I’ve already gone through several bottles, and since we only have two cases I’m starting to be concerned. My problems with zins are mainly what I think of as un-drinkability. I’m a “wine with food” girl. If it doesn’t make food taste better, I’m not interested. Sure I drink wine on its own, before dinner, or before bed with a book in my favorite red leather chair. I sold and mixed perfume for so many years that I can pick out notes with the best of them, but that’s all for nothing if I don’t want to actually drink what I’m tasting. I really judge wine by how it tastes with food. Wine is just a great excuse to spend a little more time making dinner, as far as I’m concerned.

This one? I’ve had it with lamb london broil with rosemary, splashed a little in the pan to de-glaze with and make a kickin’ sauce. I’ve had it with my husband’s spaghetti and his “god-I-love-you-and-I’m-glad-I-married-you” garlic bread. I love it with my sausage and chicken gumbo, which is always something of a surprise, since you’d think that a spicy dish would want a nice crisp white.

It’s what wine should be. And you gotta love that it came out of a guy’s garage. Which is also, when you think about it, what wine should be.

by mollykl

Caught the tail end of the NPR story “Parking Lot: Guys, Cars and the Meaning of Life” last week, and had to look it up and read the entire thing. I had managed to get only the very end, but I was intrigued by what I heard, particularly the quote, “You get to know who you are fundamentally in the absence of any other external trappings … that typically frame our identities and make us who we are. Y’know, ‘I do this, or I do that.’ Well, when you’re at the parking lot, you do nothing.”

I know, rationally, that I’m not defined by my job, and yet I still feel that way, and it prickles me. I work in a grocery store. I wear a uniform and work in a grocery store. Most of my friends, that is most of my friends outside of work, wear suits and go to jobs in office buildings, or own their own businesses. How much of our sense of self is tied up in what we do? Work is, after all, where we spend 8-10 hours a day. That’s a big chunk of waking time. But is what we do really who we are? And would I even be asking this question if I had a more glamorous job? Probably not, and that would be a shame.